


Moth to a Flame

by awkwardwritersyndrome



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: BDSM, Blood and Gore, Death, Depression, Drinking, Drug Use, F/F, Multi, Murder, War Crimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25886503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardwritersyndrome/pseuds/awkwardwritersyndrome
Summary: The Avatar went missing 100 years ago and the world has known nothing but chaos ever since. The rise of the Phoenix King reshapes the future of the world and begins a new era of Fire Nation imperialism. Katara, driven into a deep depression after losing her home and way of life, discovers the power sleeping inside of her. When the failings of the world become too much, she finds herself in New Ozai, a sinful city state under the rule of Governor Zuko, who was granted his title by his sister, Fire Lord Azula. Their lives collide in unpredictable ways, complicated by lust, death, and destruction."Mother, the war is over. The Fire Lord fulfilled his grandfather’s prophecy. They have burned the world to the ground. Take the kids and leave now."
Relationships: Azula & Katara (Avatar), Azula/Katara (Avatar), Mai/Ty Lee (Avatar), Mai/Ty Lee/Zuko, Mai/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 83





	1. the black

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will feature an Azutara relationship arc and a polyamorous Zukko/Mai/Ty Lee relationship arc, as well as several small sexual story lines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ **Chapter One Companion playlist:** ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0dGagkcNZ5DCdNM9mvGz9L?si=wgtRn15_Sdy-_wqLztBn9Q)  
> Life Round Here x James Blake (ft. Chance the Rapper)  
> SAD! x XXXTENTACION  
> human x Christina Perri  
> Losin Control x Russ  
> Stay x Rihanna (ft. Mikky Ekko)  
>   
> 

Fresh snow sounds like dead leaves if you close your eyes. Katara imagines what a life with seasons feels like. Blossoms in the spring, scorching sun in the summer, orange leaves in the fall. She’s only ever known an endless winter. Bitter, sharp, cold. When she was younger the frigid air would cut through her lungs like swallowed shards of glass. She’d complain to her mother that the supplies from the market weren’t worth the trouble, but Kya would insist, pulling her along through the ill-formed paths in the snow.

One time she decided to rebel and run away, find a place with sun and warmth. She packed up all her possessions - the trifles of a spoiled child - and made her way to the edge of the village where she looked out onto the tundra of white silence. Sokka found her hyperventilating just a few yards beyond the modest walls of ice. It wasn’t fear of the emptiness that stole her breath in that moment. Katara, at the age of seven, feared the aimless nature of routine, the idea that her life would be as unvarying as the blank snowscape in front of her.

“What are you doing out here,” Sokka yelled. He wrapped one of their mother’s furs around her tiny body, doubled over, melting into the snow beneath her. “You could have died. What were you thinking, Katara?”

She never answered him and they never told their parents. Her feeble attempt at absconding became yet another secret between siblings. Sokka was the best at keeping secrets, loyal to a fault. If he could, he would take on the world to protect Katara, his family, his way of life. His presence was steadying for an anxious child like Katara, born of the Southern Water Tribe with an inexplicable disdain for the cold.

* * *

“That’s too much firewood, Katara.” Gran Gran’s voice was old, staticky, and not unlike the crackle of the fire. Katara huddled closer to the hearth, watching the flames dance like ballerinas, pretending it was the sun she was looking at. She ignored her grandmother all together and threw in a fifth log. She would have been happy to see their little home go up in flames if it meant she could be warm for once.

Sokka rushed into the igloo with a wrinkled parchment flapping in his hands. Gran Gran and Katara watched as he bent over at the waist. He was panting as if he had run to them, which he had. Moments before, a strange man had docked just outside the village and arrived with messages from Hakoda’s battalion. Sokka was out patrolling with the other boys, trying his best to fill his father’s shoes six years after he left to join the war. When he spotted a boat on the horizon a small part of him hoped it was his father returning home with tales of victory. It was the childishly hopeful part of him that hadn’t died yet. No worries, it suffered an excruciating death the moment Sokka read the message.

When he regained his breath he held the parchment up and tried to read it without crying. “Mother, the war is over. The Fire Lord fulfilled his grandfather’s prophecy. They have burned the world to the ground. Take the kids and leave now. Soldiers will be in the south within a month’s time to claim their victory. I cannot say how long it will take us to make it back. If we make it back. I do not want my children to live in a place trampled by warlords. Please don’t delay. I’ll find you all again. Save yourselves.”

Once Sokka finished the igloo was silent except for the roaring fire. Maybe that’s the sound millions of people heard during Sozin’s Comet as the Fire Nation incinerated continents the world over. The heat seemed to be rising to an intolerable level, burning Katara’s eyes. Or was that the tears? She shut her eyes and sucked in a shaky breath. What was the point of all this? Her father left six years ago, her mother was killed two years later, her village had been raided so many times she lost count, and they stayed anyway. Every year they endured famine, frostbite, long nights, and hopeless days in that wretched village for nothing. Her tears welled and fell despite her best effort to hold them back.

Gran Gran was stoic in that moment. She sat as tall as her fragile body would let her and thought long and hard before she spoke. The wrong decision in this situation would mean the difference between her family becoming refugees or living in domiciled squalor. There was no winning except for morals and principle.

“We aren’t leaving our home,” she announced definitively. 

“But Gran Gran, we have to. Dad said in the letter-”

“This isn’t up for discussion, Sokka. You two have gone without a father for far too long. No war, won or lost, is going to drive us out of our home, and you all away from your father.” Kanna’s face was wet from the tears she couldn’t manage to stop. Still, she had an expression of stone and a defiant demeanor. Her word was final in that little home of theirs, the one place where her decisions meant something. She would not be moved.

The kids sat in the burning silence until it was too much to bear. Sokka moved to Katara’s side and did what he could to be that steady support she relied on her whole life. His wiry fingers pinched her shoulders lovingly, reminding her that she was not alone so long as he was there. It worked for a bit while her mind spun uncontrollably. She began to replay her day of rebellion in her head, where she stood at the edge of the village and wished for a different life. Could she have been on an island by now, lost in a sandy town that was indifferent to whatever mad man called himself the king? Or maybe, she could have been dead, unaffected by the world’s tyranny. Either end seemed to be a better one than the life she envisioned now, painted in red, perfectly foreshadowed by Hakoda’s grim letter.

She rose to her feet and grabbed her fur from the hook near the door. She tossed it over her shoulders and left without a word. At first, she had no idea where she was going, so she meandered through the village aimlessly. Neighbors and friends must have spoken to her because she said “hello” and “good day” a few times in her blacked-out state. She wasn’t fully aware of her surroundings until she wandered off the worn paths and began trudging through undisturbed snow. She walked and walked until she reached the farthest outpost of her village. The watchtower at that end of the wall had been abandoned a decade before she was born. No one ever attacked from the southern border of the village, only the northern docks where the Fire Nation soldiers had marched on the helpless people like giants in a field of daisies. Katara stood a few yards back from the tower and peered up at the inaccessible perch. Waterbending was required to get into the stairwell and Katara was not a waterbender. She realized her trek was a depressing waste of time, yet she couldn’t bring herself to go back home. She was going to stay and freeze half to death, get into the stairwell, or go face the reality that was waiting back in the igloo. She chose to stay and tempt death to come find her.

A few more steps brought her to the base of the tower where waterbenders had entered and exited with a wave of their arms once upon a time. An unfamiliar urge made her place a hand on the icy wall. She focused on the coldness that pierced through her mitten and made the skin of her palm ache. After a while it was as if she could feel the wall vibrating even though it was completely still. What she saw in front of her didn’t match the movement she sensed through her hand. She stared and imagined the wall falling under her grip, if only she could just bend it.

Then it happened. Droplets sprouted around her mitten and pooled together until there was a stream of water, then a wall of water. She held it up with pure astonishment for almost a full minute. When the awe turned to panic she dropped her arm and the water fell into a puddle around her feet, the staircase exposed in its place. “I can waterbend?!”

* * *

Finely ground glass can sound like crunching fresh snow if you close your eyes. Katara had taken so many bottles up to the watchtower that the floor was littered with glass. Most of it was so ground up from her boots that it resembled sand. Ever since the day her father’s letter arrived six years earlier, she’d been coming up to this forgotten place to be alone. Just like the south’s efforts to remain free from the Fire Nation, her sense of belonging had died long ago. Every day it was harder for her to climb down the stairs and go back to her life as a “seal.” Seal was the uninspired slur used for the Water Tribe folk that were prideful enough to remain in the south.

Katara hated the life her people were subjected to, the shitty jobs in the slum of a town they called Kōri City. She avoided working at all costs because she refused to scrub floors or clean outhouses like the others. She would rather die than take a lowly job serving the Fire Nation filth that moved in after retiring from Ozai’s military. Fuck them and their customs. Nothing they brought was worth any value because all they brought was opium, prostitution, foul mouths, and violence. The land had been purged of the Water Tribe’s traditions, there was nothing left of their way of life. Anyone who tried to practice the rituals, wear the garbs, or speak to the spirits was thrown in jail or worse. Katara imagined that one day she would throw caution to the wind and flood Kōri City with a tsunami of waterbending, leaving nothing behind but actual seals.

After six years of secretly practicing her bending in the watchtower, she had gotten quite good. The Water Tribe warriors must have passed their time by drawing techniques on the wall and trying them out of sheer boredom. She found dozens of images etched into the ice and went about mastering every stance and attack. There weren’t anymore waterbenders in the south to measure her skills against, but she felt powerful, and that was enough.

The last of Katara’s wine trickled down her throat and signaled the end of her night out in the cold. She tossed the bottle at a distant wall and the glass exploded against bricks of ice, creating the start of another layer of sand. She stumbled to her feet and walked toward the stairwell lazily. _Fuck, where’s the stairs?_ That last bottle was probably a bad idea, she was struggling to walk straight.

The corridors inside the tower were all so similar, barely wide enough for the average person’s shoulders. The lefts and rights all seemed the same and it was easy to get disoriented. Without a clear mind, Katara was lost in a maze of ice, getting further and further from the exit she sought. A misplaced step sent her stumbling through a doorway she’d never seen before. When she gathered herself and looked around, she realized it was a makeshift bedroom. It became clear that there was a time when someone was living in the outpost. Katara wondered how awful life needed to be to drive a person this far from society. The more she mulled it over the more she empathized with the past resident. She was in the watchtower more than her own home most days, she wasn’t in a place to pass judgement.

In the corner of the closet-sized room was the outline of a cot and maybe what used to be a stool. About 20 feet up the wall there was a small opening that let in a sliver of moonlight. The space felt haunted, making Katara shift her weight anxiously. She felt like an intruder. Before turning to leave and resuming her search for the stairs, her eyes caught a glimpse of writing on the ground, half buried in snow. She kicked away the dusting of snowflakes and tried to focus through her drunken stupor. There were words and drawings, much like the glyphs she’d been using to learn waterbending, but distinctly different. The message read, “the only peace we have is death. the only freedom we have is power.”

_What does this cryptic shit mean?_ The illustrations were odd contortions that Katara imagined would feel uncomfortable at best, but maybe even painful. Bent wrists, twisted fingers, hooked arms. Something about it was dark and vicious. Most waterbending was fluid, like the flow of a river. What Katara had found in the deep recesses of the tower was much more rigid and violent, like oceans thrashing against rocky cliffs. _Why would anyone need this?_

She looked around the floor for more and noticed a crack running underneath the wall. The draft flowing from it made her think there was a hidden space there. After pulling her mitten off with her teeth, she placed her hand on the wall and felt an emptiness behind it. A quick flick of her wrist brought it down to reveal a shelf of withering scrolls. Almost 20 neatly placed parchments that hadn’t been touched in a short lifetime. Katara slid one out and carefully unrolled it. It had much more writing than the carvings on the ground.

“Reports from the high security prison tell us there’s no water there. The air is dry. Prisoners drink from spoons. There’s nothing a waterbender can use unless we can find other sources.”

Katara wondered what prison was holding waterbenders with such little mercy. She picked out another scroll.

“A waterbending master from our sister tribe has arrived with reinforcements. I believe he may know the key to finding more water for our stolen men and women. There’s something I haven’t tapped into. I have to find it.”

There was a secret hidden in these scrolls and Katara became determined to find it. She pulled them down, one by one, and tore through the writings, scanning every page for the answer. The waterbender that left this all behind did study under the Northern Water Tribe master. They learned about the cycle of life and how all things return to the earth as the four basic elements. Every living thing on earth was made of water. There was always water that could be bent.

As Katara read on she felt a rush of energy, sobering her mind, clearing her thoughts. She began to piece together the waterbender's ramblings until it all made sense. _I can waterbend anything? I can waterbend blood!_ She gasped out loud at the thought. It seemed impossible for it to be true. That much power would have changed the war, ended it, and marked a new day for Water Tribe people everywhere. If this waterbender could really bend the water in someone’s body, why keep that a secret and let millions of people die?

The last scroll on the shelf was barely written on, like someone interrupted the writer.

“I can control the mice, the hawks, the wolves. I can feel the water in their veins as it courses through their hearts. Some have died. If I’m not careful they begin to bleed. Their vessels are so fragile. I don’t know how another person would fair. Would they suffer the same fate as….”

There was an abrupt end that left Katara spinning. A haunting feeling crept up her spine and choked the air from her lungs. Suddenly her vision was narrow and veiled, fading until she couldn’t see at all, and she lost consciousness in that dark little room. Maybe it was from the wine, maybe it was the intoxicating prospect of unbridled power, or perhaps it was both.

* * *

Sokka and Hakoda spent weeks at a time out at sea. Of all the seal jobs there were, fishing was the most dignified of them. But it was brutal work. The water was always moments from freezing over, cold enough to burn bare skin. The course out to the deepest waters was perilous and dark, the sunlight and moonlight snuffed out by stormy clouds. Many men left for work and found a watery grave before they could return home.

Katara had taken up caring for Gran Gran while her brother and father were gone. Everyday brought a new type of pain for the elderly woman, pushing her closer to the spirit realm. It was hard to watch. It made Katara wish for a swift death for her grandmother, an end to the suffering. A hundred logs couldn’t stoke the fire enough to warm Gran Gran’s hands. They were frighteningly cold, as if she was dead already.

A suffocating anxiety kept Katara awake at night, even when the home was a symphony of dying flames and the labored snores of a dying woman. When the blackness of the ceiling turned to ominous shadows she slipped out of her bed and into the frozen remains of her village. Only a handful of folks still lived outside Kōri City in the dilapidated tents and igloos. She trudged through ankle-high snow out to the watchtower, her place of solace.

Scattered along the base of the wall were traps setup to catch small animals. She went about checking them until she found a barely alive snow fox. “Sorry, buddy.” Katara grabbed the fox up by the thick of its neck and carried it up to the top of the wall. The poor thing was more bone than skin, barely able to whimper above the roar of the wind. She hoped it would live longer than the others.

About ten feet separated the two of them, each broken in a way, and at different ends of a deadly dance. Katara planted her feet and craned her arms into a twisted, unnatural position. The fox’s cries rang out into the midnight air but there was only Katara there to hear it. Her fingers curled up like claws, lifting her subject to its hind feet. Each digit controlled one of the fox's limbs and directed it like the strings on a marionette. She moved the fox to and fro, contorting its body, bending it to her will until she could feel the blood straining against the intricate vessels beneath the skin. She went on as long as she could, until bruises formed under the fox's fur, so big they looked like wine stains.

That was enough practice for the night. She relaxed her arms and let the animal fall to the ground gently. It didn’t bring Katara any joy hurting living creatures, but it was a necessary evil. It had taken her several mice, birds, and hares to even manage a semblance of control over blood. Ice, snow, ocean water, all so pure she could feel the weight of it when she bent it. But blood was muddied with life, fluttering unpredictably inside another living thing. Without uninterrupted focus she could barely feel it all.

The fox laid motionless at Katara’s feet, eyes wide with fear as it saw death up close. She sighed at the sight of its petrified look. With the twirl of her finger its head spun around with a nauseating snap. “Rest,” she whispered, unsure if she was talking to the fox or herself.

* * *

_I hate this fucking town._ Katara had forced herself into dark furs and red pants to go into Kōri City. Water Tribe colors were forbidden inside city limits so she had to wear Sokka’s work clothes. The baggy fabric made her look formless, which she didn’t mind. The drugged-out war vets loitered in the streets day and night, harassing women and picking fights with seals. Every corner wreaked of sewage and rotting fish. If Katara had her way she would never step foot inside Kōri City, but all the markets and shops that were outside of town were burned down to force the owners into seal jobs.

Something shattered underneath Katara’s foot as she slipped through a dark alleyway. She thought for a moment that she could make it home without being accosted but she thought too soon. The broken glass stirred a sot from his opium slumber, jerking him into an angry consciousness. “The fuck are you doing back here?!”

_Keep walking. Don’t stop_.

“You answer me when I’m speaking, seal.”

_Seal_ ? The word pinned her in place, rage rising through her body like waves in the high tide. Her eyes fluttered closed. _Don’t. Leave him in his filth._

“I won’t ask again, bitch.”

There was a fraction of a moment where Katara resolved to be the bigger person. She didn’t want to make a scene. Gran Gran was home alone and she needed to get back. But the moment passed, leaving her hot and nearly unhinged. She made an about face and scowled at the unsteady man. “I’m no bitch, and I’m _not_ a seal.”

Shock took over the man’s face. It barely made sense that a woman was talking out of turn, but to make matters worse it was a seal. The drugs and wine slowed his ability to process what was happening but he slowly became angry. “You’ll regret that,” he yelled, taking a few shaky steps toward Katara, his fist poised to swing.

Before he could manage to recoil he lost control of his entire body. Katara sucked in a deep breath and threw her arms out like the wings of a dragon. Her fingers were talons and her feet were roots, settling into the ground for support. “This is going to hurt.”

She closed her hands together slowly and deliberately, earning ghastly screams from her assailant-turned-victim. His face twisted into a tortured scowl, lips trembling, teeth clenched, eyes wide from the panic. The closer Katara’s hands got to each other the wider the man’s arms were bent, until they touched behind his back, making his chest protrude. A hook of her finger cracked his chest plate open, marrow spilling black onto the snow. Another twitch ripped him open from his sternum to his stomach. The sound of his insides being exposed to the frost was eerily similar to gutting a fish. Katara had gutted hundreds of fish before. What difference would one more make?

She spread open her hand and focused on the largest source of blood she could find. Eyes closed, breath steady, centered. Blood poured from the man’s mouth as he hung lifeless under Katara’s spell. Her hand closed into a fist before she drew it back, ripping his heart from his chest.

Then there was nothing, just the weak beating of the excavated heart. It fluttered as it levitated near the fresh corpse. Katara released her hold and let the lifeless man fall into his own blood. The red black fluid splashed onto her boots and Sokka’s pants. “Fuck!”

* * *

The city fell into chaotic panic as word spread of an evil spirit that ripped a Fire Nation man apart without even touching him. Some believed it was a spirit sent to save the Water Tribe people. Others thought it was a hoax. But no one knew for sure because Katara escaped Kōri City that night without being seen.

She reveled in her newfound infamy. Even though no one knew she was responsible for the man’s death, her handiwork had struck fear into the hearts of every Fire Nation citizen in the south pole. It pleased her to picture their fretful faces in taverns and fish markets, whispering about the mysterious murder of one of their own. When Gran Gran could muster the energy, she would tell Katara to leave the south to get away from the danger. “Fate has more in store for you. There’s nothing left for you here.” 

Katara kept her secret from her grandmother and reassured her she wasn’t going anywhere, even though Gran Gran was right, there was nothing left for her at home. The thrill of being known, yet anonymous, was all Katara had. Kanna was only getting worse. Sokka and Hakoda practically lived at sea. The winter pressed on like it had for many millennia. She was alone most days and only the rumors kept her company.

But fate is a cruel master. When life seems unbearably dim, fate has a way of dousing what little light is left. Gran Gran’s will to live was the flickering light that fate claimed.

“No no no! Gran Gran?! Wake up…please.” Katara clawed at the blankets wrapped around her grandmother’s frail body. She couldn’t feel any blood pumping, her heart had stopped. “Just hang on, I can help.”

She sat up on her knees and placed her hands on Gran Gran’s chest. Her fingers waved from right to the left, pulling blood through the intricate chambers of the heart. Katara did everything she could to keep Gran Gran’s heart beating, but every time she let go the circulation stopped. Despite her desperate toiling, it was over. Kanna was gone.

Katara sat by her grandmother for hours. The sweat she worked up bloodbending dried from her skin. The fire she made before dinner went it out. Eventually the sun came up. Everything in the world kept on going while she sat and watched Gran Gran’s skin turn blue. It became painful to sit but she didn’t move. Her skin became pale where it met the floor and blisters formed, but she didn’t move. If she was cognizant at all she would have noticed that entire days went by. The smell of rotting flesh had come and gone, aided by the bitter cold in the fireless igloo. The blisters began to bleed and her hair began to mat. Katara thought she was alone before, but she found herself at the bottom of a chasm, unable to remember anything except loneliness.

Death was on its way to claim her life but Sokka and Hakoda got back before that could happen. When they found Katara balled up next to Gran Gran’s corpse it made them physically ill. Sokka ran back outside and vomited, heaving uncontrollably until his body was empty and limp. Hakoda, teary and mortified, peel Katara off the ground. Her bleeding sores soiled his work clothes but he didn’t care, his baby girl was a shell of herself, and he felt incredibly guilty for not being there to help her sooner.

When Sokka regained his composure he drug their old wash basin out of a nearby tent they used for storage. He cleaned it out and filled it with water he boiled on the fire. It was hard to keep the temperature above lukewarm but it was the best he could do. Katara’s clothes were stuck to her skin from the sweat and the frost. It took a warm towel and delicate patience for Sokka to get them off of her. He left her wrappings on and helped Hakoda lift her into the tub. The water muddied immediately from dried blood and dead skin. The warmth was soothing and brought Katara out of her grieving trance.

“Sokka, do you think about dying?” Her words were barely audible but Sokka heard her well enough to feel his stomach drop.

“What do you mean?”

“I killed a man. He looked a lot like the man that came into our home and killed mom. At least I think he did, but I was so little and all I kept looking at was mom’s tears. I had never seen her cry before that day.”

Sokka winced at the mention of their mother’s death. He was already shaken by Gran Gran’s passing, so Katara’s ramblings weren’t helping. Then he realized that his baby sister, while she was wallowing in her grief, confessed to killing a man. “You what?! What’s going on, Katara?”

“The Kōri City spirit is me. I found some old scrolls at the watchtower.”

“Is that where you go every night?”

“I taught myself how to waterbend.” She lifted her hand from the tub and a stream of water rose with it. Sokka’s eyes got wide with fear and disbelief. He was stunned by her confessions, unable to respond.

“Then I learned how to bloodbend, a dark form of bending that the world’s never seen before. I didn’t want to kill him. I just wanted to come home to Gran Gran.” As she explained she began to cry. It wasn’t the noisy kind of crying that made others feel bad, but the kind that’s silent and pained, and makes others fearful.

Sokka had been Katara’s sense of normalcy their whole lives but he was losing sight of her as she soaked in the tub. Who was this woman in front of him? Certainly it wasn’t his fretful baby sister that hated frigid winters and loved to find flowers sprouting through the permafrost. “I- I don’t know what to say.”

Katara dazedly surveyed the room. Suddenly, it all looked so unfamiliar. The walls were crumbling, the floor was evaporating, the light blinked away. She could see Sokka but he felt unreachable, like she had left the plane he was on. She was disappearing. “I have to leave now. She wanted me to leave.”

* * *

Curious neighbors crouched behind their tents and shacks, craning their heads to witness the feuding between siblings. The last time Katara set out to the edge of her village to run away, she was so small she could barely trudge through the snow. Back then she had to plow through fresh powder layered as high as her chest. She was overwhelmed by the vastness possibilities when she tried to leave before. Sokka saved her from freezing to death that day, but she wasn’t that delicate girl anymore. 

Now, Sokka was backpedaling, trying to stay in front of his sister as she marched towards the docks, affronting him with every step. Once she had soaked in the tub long enough, she got dressed and packed her bags. Staying in the south, on the outskirts of Kōri City, was no longer an option. Katara was leaving because the alternative meant spending every day dying a little more until death was her only reality. Sokka was arguing in vain, nothing could keep her in that forlorn place.

“What about dad? What about me?” He stopped backing up and put his arms out to brace for Katara’s barreling stride. She stopped before running him over, jolted from her warpath by the softness in his voice. _What about him? My big brother. My only brother. My only…_

A fleeting look of guilt passed over Katara’s face. She loved Sokka, maybe more than she loved herself, and certainly more than she loved anyone else in the world. If anything made her departure difficult, it was knowing that he would be devastated. She walked slowly between his outstretched arms and took him into a hug. _When was the last time we hugged?_

Tears trickled off Sokka’s chin onto the hood of Katara’s fur. He imagined that he could hold onto her forever, hug her until she felt like herself again, love her until she came back to life. But he knew her too well to believe that fantasy. Katara was hugging him goodbye, maybe for the last time ever. Sokka let his weight rest on her smaller frame and he took note of all things he wanted to remember about her. _Soft hair. Short. Bony shoulders. Loud. Stubborn. Loving, just like mom._ That’s the Katara he would picture long after their hug ended and the phantom warmth of her embrace dissipated. “Be careful,” he pleaded.

“You too. Take care of dad, Sokka. I’ll be okay.” Katara must have cried all the tears she had left while she was sinking into her tepid bath, because she had nothing left for her big brother. She wished she had more to offer him than flimsy promises, but her spirit had been scorched black. She was empty. 

Eventually Sokka let go and Katara made her way to the docks. She found a poorly manned cargo ship and snuck into the hold full of provisions. It was dark and damp, wreaking of fish and mildew, but it would have to suffice for the week-long sail to Old Earth Kingdom territory. Katara rested against a crate of pelts in the farthest corner where she was out of sight if someone glanced into the room. She had her furs, a few clothes, and the necklace her mother gave her. No money and nothing valuable to her name. When she landed on the other side of the world she would have to scrape together a life. Make a way for herself under the vindictive rule of a tyrant. 

When the ship was a few miles from the coast, the moon hid behind the clouds of a threatening storm. An opening in the hold gave Katara the smallest view of the ocean, but she couldn’t see a thing. It was completely dark. The black.


	2. rare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Smoke stacks billowed into the sky, casting an eerie shadow over every building and road. It looked a lot like a smoldering match, capable of dying or bursting into flames at any moment. As the sun set, lanterns and torches were lit across the town, creating an ominous yellow glow, like a dying star nestled in the mountains."_
> 
> There's two ways to get to New Ozai, each with its own perils.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ **Chapter Two Companion playlist:** ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5iLTPIGLPg6V1LmG5JWX5s?si=82re20A1Sz-uQWTp6Auxyg)  
> Panic Room x Au/Ra  
> Sail x AWOLNATION  
> Unsteady x X Ambassadors  
> I Can't Go On Without You x KALEO  
> Arsonist's Lullabye x Hozier  
>   
> 

Capital City has evolved into a monstrosity of gaudy overindulgence. In the wake of Ozai’s victory, the wealthiest families of the other nations tolled out handsome purses, what some might call ransoms, to preserve a semblance of freedom. The capital was flooded with tapestries, rugs, fine silks, and rare stones. While the poorer citizens were trampled over with tyranny, the rich paid for their place in the new Fire Empire. 

When Azula got tired of receiving the gifts, and the palace spilled over with luxury, she dulled out the riches to Capital City citizens in exchange for loyalty and praise. Nobles bowed at her feet, officials sent their children to join her private forces, dignitaries partook in senseless agni kais for her entertainment. It amused Azula to see her subjects bend to her will, beg and grovel for her blessings. At the height of her decadence, for no reason at all, she ordered the streets surrounding the palace to be paved with literal gold. Beifong gold, to be exact. Every sunrise set the roads on fire with brilliant oranges and pinks. Every sunset washed over the precious metals so the city shone with cool purples and grays. The Capital was the gem of the Fire Empire, the finest jewel in the world. 

The palace was a sprawling expanse of grandeur. The throne room was crowded with meteorite sculptures, depictions of Ozai’s final conquest and subsequent rise to power, battle scenes frozen in time with black alien elements. Heavy red curtains lined the walls, making the room feel warm and dark. The black marble floors were covered in finely woven rugs with intricate oriental designs. Everything was draped in maximalist ornamentation. Overdone. Visual gluttony. 

In the sea of finery, Azula pondered what was left for her to procure. She had been given a necklace forged in the volcano on Roku’s Island. A former Earth Kingdom sage sent her vases made from the seafloor that Kyoshi tore apart centuries ago. Her most prized possession was a dragon-head staff her father sent from Ba Sing Se, made entirely from gold, crafted specifically for the Phoenix King. He scoffed at the idea of yielding an artifact given to him by measly Earth folk, but it would do just fine for his prodigal daughter.

Azula twirled the staff as she reclined in her throne, halfway listening to updates from her local advisors. “Is there a point to all this?”

“I do apologize for my roundabout reports, Fire Lord Azula. What I mean to say is that the local banks are secure and fully funded.” The advisor lowered his head and trained his eyes to the floor, too scared to look up from fear of being berated. 

“Very good. That’s quite enough business for today. Dismissed.”

The round man bent at the waist to formally bid his ruler ado before padding away. His presence was replaced by two women, one bouncing on the tips of her toes as she walked, and the other gliding glumly toward the Fire Lord. “Mai. Ty Lee. Finally some faces I don’t hate,” Azula said.

Both bowed lazily, knowing they wouldn’t be held to the same customary standards as other palace-goers. Ty Lee skipped up the steps to the throne and stood by Azula’s side with all the excitement of a loving puppy. “Awww, Azula. We don’t hate your face either. Your face is the prettiest.”

“Yeah, nice face,” Mai added facetiously. Even at the age of 20 and 21, Ty Lee managed to surprise Mai with her perpetually jovial demeanor. Try as Mai might, and she tried mightily, she couldn’t bring herself to dislike Ty Lee. She would never admit it, but something in her enjoyed the way her friend was so comfortable being expressive, something Mai never figured out.

Azula planted her staff in the ground and stood up to receive the hug Ty Lee was undoubtedly saving for her. “I think you two can help me with a problem I have. Let’s do dinner.”

* * *

Boisterous laughter echoed through the grand dining hall as Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee dined. Between generous swallows of wine and savory bites, there were passing conversations about snuffed out rebellions and upper class scandal. The Yang family put in a bid to purchase Northern Water Tribe land before word spread of their son’s infidelities with a northern seal. The Weiyong’s sent two fleets of pickled fruits to Capital City in an attempt to keep their estate, only to find out that Azula despised pickled foods. Their calamitous stories strung together like an epic tale, and the three women enjoyed sharing their latest exploits with one another. 

The servants passed course after course, ending the meal with bite-sized sweets. Porcelain hands plucked tarts and small cakes from heavy silver trays and crystal tiered stands. No one paid any mind to the crumbs that fell to the ground, they were swept up instantly by ratty-clothed maids. The wine sloshed about its carafe more and more as the inebriation set in. The hysterics mounted with every newly-poured drink. When each woman’s chest was warm, and their superficial worries were diluted into tipsy hiccups, Azula called for their attention. “Now, down to the real business of the evening.”

The Fire Lord rested her elbows on the table with her chalice precariously balancing between her fingers. She ran her thumb over the emeralds and rubies encrusted in the silver, swiping at the stray drops of blood red liquid. “I’ve grown tired of the pitiful penance from the non-Nation common folk. My 21st birthday is quickly approaching and I want it to be the grandest event of the century, second only to my father’s flawless victory.”

Mai settled into her chair and reclined, waiting to hear about Azula’s latest quest for superiority. “What could even remotely compare to the Phoenix King’s rising?”

A mischievous grin spread across Azula’s face. Her eyes darkened with lust and she leaned forward. “I’m going to find a dragon egg.”

Ty Lee gasped, both frightened and intrigued. She glanced at Mai to gage how serious Azula was, but Mai didn’t appear to think it was a joke. She sat up straight and gripped the arms of her chair. 

Now that she had their full attention, Azula continued, “Once I find an egg, I’m going to figure out how to hatch it. I’ll be the first person in the world with a dragon since Avatar Roku.”

Azula’s plan made Ty Lee swell with excitement. Hearing her friend talk of accomplishments and reverence was always the beginning of a new adventure, and Ty Lee lived for adventure. “You would make a wonderful dragon rider, Azula.”

“Where would you keep a pet dragon,” Mai panned. 

“Mai, you’re a riot. That’s a problem for the groundskeepers to solve.” Azula chuckled and took another sip of her drink. “I’ve gotten word from my dragon skull dealer that there’s an egg in New Ozai. I think the three of us ought to pay my big brother a visit.”

Mai and Ty Lee locked eyes again, this time communicating wordlessly. Mai and Zuko hadn’t seen each other since his reunification ceremony six years before. He returned to the Fire Nation bitter and dejected. It’s not that Ozai  _ wanted _ him back, he just couldn’t be bothered ensuring that he remained shunned. With the entire world under his control, Ozai had more important matters to attend to. Zuko initially refused to take on any political office but Azula quickly talked some sense into him, surely he wouldn’t have survived another conflict with their father. It was her idea, as the newly appointed Fire Lord, to name Zuko the governor of New Ozai. He was resistant at first, feeling unworthy, plagued by the notion that the rundown city state was just another place to banish him. 

He and his sister had grown so far apart as children, it was impossible for him to trust her intentions.  _ Azula always lies. Azula always lies _ . When he got back from spending three years at sea, his little sister was a fourteen year old sitting in the second most powerful seat in the world, and it broke something inside of him to have lost his place on the throne. Azula didn’t have her brother’s support, and would likely never get it. They had burned their bridge in a brilliant flame of dishonor and disloyalty a long time ago. Everything wrong with their relationship exemplified the nature of the royal family for generations - vindictive, power starved, tumultuous. It was barely a family at all, and Zuko was all too aware. Eventually he accepted governorship and moved across the world. He became more of a figurehead than an actual leader, and no one bothered him in his new home, including Mai. 

Ty Lee knew Zuko and Mai had feelings for each other as children, but they never reconnected when the prince returned, and that was probably for the best. Zuko was despondent the few months he spent in the capital before leaving for New Ozai. His self-loathing would have plagued any relationship he tried to build back then. Now they avoided being on the same continent just to keep from having to address their feelings. Mai silently revealed her apprehension about traveling to New Ozai, her shoulders tensed and her face paled. What if Zuko had moved on? What if he was cold and hateful? Would she be able to hold her composure if things were drastically different than before?

As Mai panicked internally, Azula continued on making plans for the trio to sail to New Ozai before the week’s end. Company on the trip wasn’t actually necessary, but Azula wanted her dearest friends by her side. Since their days in the Royal Fire Academy for Girls, Azula felt a sense of belonging with Mai and Ty Lee, something she never had at home. All her father’s bloodthirsty affections were empty when she thought of Ursa’s love for Zuko. In her not-so-deep subconscious, she wanted her mother’s attention, but settled for being Ozai’s prized possession. 

As she explained the shortest course to New Ozai, the local culture, and the details of her rendezvous with the skull dealer, she noticed Mai was becoming unsettled. Azula reached across the wide table and placed her hand over her friend’s. “I really want you there, Mai. Say you’ll go? It’s for your oldest friend in the world.”

Under the shadow of her long bang, Mai’s face softened. Azula had been the sister she always wanted, a confidante, a role model, and so much more. Letting her leave Capital City alone was out of the question. “Of course I’m coming, Azula. Can’t let you have all the fun.”

Ty Lee popped up from her seat, jumped into Mai’s lap, and placed her hand atop the other women’s. “Best friend field trip! Spirits, this is going to be amazing!”

A laughable amount of cheer was to be expected from Ty Lee, but Azula and Mai still shared a pert chuckle. They all remained in the dining hall for several more hours, gorging themselves with wine and sweets. The food in New Ozai would pale in comparison, so it was best they enjoyed the lavish offerings of the capital before they had to settle for second-rate living overseas.

* * *

Katara hadn’t anticipated the vile smells that lived on cargo ships full of men, fermenting grains, and damp supplies. Even worse were the things she heard from the sailors that had terrorized villages, taken what they wanted, and left nothing behind but despair. They told stories of women and children begging for death but finding cruel endings instead. The irony of it all, sharing their deplorable accounts, knowing nothing of the deadly stowaway lying dormant beneath the hull. If Katara was not determined to reach New Ozai undetected, she would have given each member of the crew the merciless death they deserved. Justice was motivation enough, but she might have given in just for her own peace of mind and a good night’s sleep. 

When the ship docked on the coast, with the Kolau Mountains off in the distance, Katara escaped through a hawsehole. She bent an underwater capsule so she could get out of the crew’s sight. Almost two hundred yards down the beach, she emerged from the water with her few possessions and some items she stole from the ship. Seeing the mountains towering over the palm trees made her feel small. Her boots sunk into the hot sand, the sun burned the back of her neck, beads of sweat formed on her forehead. She had never known such a fierce heat.

There were no roads in sight, no one to guide her, and no plan. All Katara could do was walk toward the mountain range and hope New Ozai appeared at its feet. She headed into the thick of trees, dragging her bag behind her, relying on instinct more than reason. She quickly lost track of time but remained painfully aware of the rising sun. When it peaked, she was forced to rest. She sat in the damp black soil of the forest, taking in heavy uneven breaths. She thought of how the humid air was sticking in her throat unlike the icy winds of the south pole that cut through her chest. Which kind of bitter breath was worse? Everywhere she went she felt like a fish out of water, gasping for oxygen, flailing under the circumstances of life. Katara wondered if it would hurt if she walked back into the ocean and inhaled. 

She spent the next few hours swatting away insects that were lured to her sweaty skin and musty odor. The buzzing of mosquitoes and flies was an unpleasant surprise, like ringing in the ear after a long fall. The white noise of the continent was maddening, and Katara was slowly descending into delirium as she sat amongst the trees. Every time she nodded off, a branch snapped in the distance, or a bird squawked above her head, keeping her from finding sleep. “Why is it so damn noisy here,” she yelled into the sticky air. 

Her lamenting must have stirred the resting creatures of the forest because an agitated snake came slithering toward her legs. There weren’t any snakes in the south pole but Katara didn’t pause long enough to make that realization. She hurried to her feet, twisted her hand palm-side up, and hooked her fingers like a claw. The snake was halted in the grasp of her bloodbending, hissing as if it could scare her away. She lifted the limbless animal and brought it close enough to see its diamond-shaped scales. 

_ What is this? _ She cocked her head curiously, trying to understand what she was looking at, unconsciously leaning closer. Just then, the snake bared its fangs and extended out with the intention of striking its captor. Unfortunately for him, Katara had wrangled so many vicious animals for bending practice that her reflexes were just quick enough to evade the attack. “Shit!” 

The warmer climate apparently meant deadly beasts and endless days. It wasn’t the paradise Katara pictured as a girl. Not surprising though. Misfortune found its way to her no matter where she went or what she did. This was just a new type of hell. She flung the snake as far as she could and gathered her things, deciding to move before more came. The sun was lower and the temperature had dropped a few degrees, enough for her to walk without exerting too much energy. Still, sweat soaked through every piece of clothing and pooled in indecent places. Each step threatened to be a new cut on the leg, a lashing against bare arms, or a pouncing predator. Katara did her best to quiet her uncertainty, reminding herself of the devastation she left behind in the south.  _ There’s nothing there for you. _

Before she knew it, the ground was so difficult to see that she couldn’t make out the path in front of her. The night wasn’t much cooler than the day, her mouth was dry, and her lips were cracked from dehydration. She had to choose between finding water or sleep. Though she desperately needed to drink something, there was no way she’d find a spring or river without sight, so sleep it was. All the energy left in her body was used to scale a nearby tree, the rough bark shredded her soft hands. Wedged between two branches, Katara used her bag as a pillow and tried to drown out the droning sounds of insects and nocturnal life. Her slumber wasn’t deep and it was plagued by pain, her muscles sore from the trek and her stomach knotted from emptiness. 

A sharp, agonizing sensation woke her up just before dawn. A throbbing in her back elicited tortured groans. She attempted to climb down from the tree but couldn’t hang on, plunging to the ground instead.  _ The Spirit World can’t be all that bad. Maybe I’ll just lie here and wait for something to eat me.  _ The chances of being mauled by a goat gorilla or a saber-tooth moose lion were rather high, especially laid out on the ground smelling of fish and despair. What other options did she have? Turning back seemed like an impossibility. Going forward felt like a death sentence. Thousands of miles from home and nothing was different, life still had Katara trapped between a pernicious existence and a dreadful end. An accursed plight.

In that moment, like the many before it, she chose the labor of living. The back pain prevented her from standing on her own, so she found a branch to use as a cane. Her hobbled steps were barely enough to pull her things through the brush, and her pace was tediously slow. Hours passed and she didn’t feel any closer to the mountains or a body of water. The sun got high again and threatened to set Katara on fire, put her out of her misery. An attempt was made to continue on under the beating sun, but it ended in unconsciousness.

* * *

Katara had collapsed in a thick of plants with broad leaves and tiny berries. Her languid body was enveloped in greenery, shielding her from the unforgiving sun rays. She was lifeless for hours before it began to drizzle. The cold drops of water tapped her face and gently pulled her back to reality.  _ Still not dead?  _ It was a bittersweet realization. 

Rain was her savior in the unfamiliar terrain. She didn’t need a body of water when it was pouring from the sky. Katara pulled in the deepest breath she could manage, pointed her hand to the heavens, and opened her palm to the rain drops. The simple gesture halted every bead of water in its place. She waved her hand in a circular motion, creating a stream in midair before bringing it to her mouth. Her hold on it was weak but she had enough control to drink her fill two times over. When she was bloated and full, she let the water drop on top of her, soaking her clothes and soothing her sunburned skin. 

The hydration cleared her hazy mind enough to notice the fruit hanging in the bushes. It was the first bit of good fortune since she fled the south, but short lived as usual. As Katara gorged herself on berries, the rich juices turning her fingers purple, the ground began to shake. If the rain hadn’t stopped, the booming sounds rattling the trees might have been mistaken for thunder. Something was barreling towards the forest, and it sounded too big for Katara to bloodbend. Her heart began to pound like it might tear into a hundred pieces. The panic that set in was paralyzing, there was no escaping.

The trees parted, bent at the roots, and toppled to the ground with deafening thuds. An eighty foot tall badger mole appeared where there was once lush forest. Katara remained frozen in the bush, sitting completely still save for her rapidly rising and falling chest, calling out to the spirits with her mind.  _ Please be an herbivore _ . The wooly beast approached slowly and took in wafts of her scent. When its nose grazed her berry-stained hands it let out a menacing growl, displaying its sharp teeth, a putrid odor dripping from its mouth. Being mauled to death was less appealing up close.

“Easy boy.” A person’s voice cut through the fog of doom consuming Katara’s thoughts. A tiny human frame could be seen straddling the badger mole’s neck. Dressed in Fire Empire red, with a gold and emerald arm clasp, the person looked young, rich, and disoriented, failing to make eye contact or even look in Katara’s direction. “What is it, Bouldie?”

The mole craned its head down, as if it were bowing, and the rider dismounted acrobatically. The soft forest floor was pleasant on their bare feet, bodyweight pushing them into the shifting earth. Their eyes finally found Katara, shooting a quizzical grin in her direction. “It must be my lucky day. Fresh food for Boulder.”

Humidity and tension were indistinguishable as they stared at each other silently. Never having met before, there was a sense that they shared a propensity for confrontation. Katara scanned her surroundings as they waited for one another to make the first move, both of them expecting the encounter to end in bloodshed. “Actually, I’m a little lost,” she said with a feigned innocence that her counterpart scoffed at. 

“I’m sure you are.” 

That was the full extent of their small talk before they unleashed their go-to bending moves. Katara was swiftly imprisoned in a sheath of bedrock and the earthbender was brought to their knees by Katara’s bloodbending. They snarled like a feral animal caught in a trap, straining to get free from invisible holds. “What are you doing to me?”

“Let me out of here and I won’t hurt you.” Katara tried to strike a truce but the earthbender wasn't exactly amicable. 

“Get fucked, Madame Water Tribe.”

“I could rip you open right here. Leave you for dead in this forest,” Katara threatened.

A slick smirk crawled across the earthbender’s face. “And you’ll die in that rock. My money’s on Boulder biting your head off, but you smell so fucking bad he’d probably leave you to starve.”

The headstrong response reminded Katara a lot of herself, or what she pictured herself to be when she was talking to no one at all in the watchtower. She chuckled quietly, trying to keep her composure before countering. “I’ll let you up, if you let me out. No attacks. Let’s just talk.”

There wasn't much choice in their particular stalemate, so the stranger groaned reluctantly and agreed. Both benders relaxed their bodies and let the other go free, a delicate thread of trust keeping them from using lethal force instead of piddly restraints. “Who are you,” Katara asked as she rubbed her chest, trying to alleviate the pain after being smothered in sediment. 

“You’re the weirdo that’s half-dead in the middle of nowhere. Who are  _ you _ ?” 

For the sake of actually having a productive conversation, Katara explained how she sailed from Kōri City after getting into trouble with Fire Empire settlers. That peaked the other person’s interest, a shared disdain for the Fire Empire and its citizens. “And what the hell was that you did to me a second ago? Are you some kind of spirit, lady?”

The trepid bewilderment was flattering to Katara. She smiled and replied, “I’m a waterbender.”

Confused about the correlation between waterbending and their unexpected capture, they asked, “Do I look like a puddle to you?”

“You look like a smartass little girl!”

Their stance instantly shifted, fists clenching, a swarm of rocky pellets springing up from the ground. “I’m  _ not _ a girl.”

Instead of retaliating, and again, in the interest of information, Katara lifted her hands to surrender. “Sorry. I just assumed. What’s a better word for you then?”

“My name’s Toph. Toph Beifong. You can call me by my name or not call me at all.” There was a scornful ire in their voice, suggesting this was not the first time someone got it wrong. Katara recognized the family name and wasn’t interested in going toe-to-toe with a powerful earthbender whose disappearance would stir up trouble. Using their proper name wouldn’t be a problem.

“Well, Toph, I’m Katara. No last name, I don’t come from wealth, but I have a feeling we can help each other.”

* * *

Boulder was quick on his feet to be a blind two ton badger mole. They reached the edge of the forest in minutes and made it to New Ozai just as dusk set in. A staggering canyon wrapped all the way around the city, which was perched on a rugged mountain top. Almost 1,000 feet up, there was a singular land bridge connecting the outer gates to the rest of the Kolau Mountains, and no other visible access points. Smoke stacks billowed into the sky, casting an eerie shadow over every building and road. It looked a lot like a smoldering match, capable of dying or bursting into flames at any moment. As the sun set, lanterns and torches were lit across the town, creating an ominous yellow glow, like a dying star nestled in the mountains. 

Katara peered up at the raised metropolis with the same determination she had standing at the base of the watchtower for the first time. “How do we get in?”

“ _ I  _ get in with my passport. I don’t know about you,” Toph said plainly. They waited for their words to set in and watched Katara fret for a bit. “Just kidding...sort of.”

Toph did have a passport, as most wealthy residents did. The Beifongs shelled out an unconscionable amount of gold to buy their way into New Ozai after the war. Rural areas were ravaged by the soldiers set loose on the Old Earth Kingdom, leaving millions of Earth folk homeless, permanent refugees on their own land. The few big cities in the kingdom were the only chance at a new life for all the displaced families, which increased crowding and depleted resources. Ba Sing Se’s outer ring was squalor, New Ozai was riddled with slums, and a handful of other towns were subjected to similar fates. 

Much like Kōri City, old nation customs were banned in the conquered cities of the Fire Empire. Every person was made to wear red with the exception of a green or blue armband to signify their non-Fire lineage. The truly disillusioned believed they could earn their place amongst natural-born citizens through the Phoenix King’s convoluted tests of loyalty. His naturalization process was referred to as “blazing,” a nod to the final ceremony, during which a Fire Sage recited an oath and bestowed upon the subject the “touch of fire,” permanently branding their arms. It was a demoralizing experience that very few could afford, and even fewer could stomach. The Beifongs opted to use their riches to survive, funding major developments throughout the city, gaining favor with the elite Fire families. Blazing was never an option for them, pride wouldn’t allow it.

“We’ll take the secret tunnels,” Toph explained. They jabbed their heel into Boulder’s side, signaling him to open a cavernous hole in the side of the mountain. 

“I’m not going in there!” Katara’s eyes widened nervously at the pitch black hollow. 

“Did you expect there to be lamps? I can’t see, dumbass!”

Katara knitted her brow, caught off guard by Toph’s crass explanation. Suddenly their lack of eye contact and keen senses fit into a clear picture. She felt silly for not noticing right away. “I knew that.” She lied.

“Then let’s get a move on, I’m starving.” 

Katara climbed back onto the mole and closed her eyes, there was no point in leaving them open for a sightless journey through the inside of a mountain. She passed the time asking Toph about New Ozai - the people, the homes, the jobs, the government. Toph had lived there for five years, her family moved when she was thirteen. In that short time, the city had become a bastion of sin and hedonism. All kinds of crooks and thieves converged there, enticed by the gambling, drinking, and bathhouses that doubled as sex manors. It was a criminal’s heaven, a place where no one was sober enough to remember where their last dollar went, and their next was spent on chasing the buzz. 

As the pair rose through the mountain’s core, there was a foul smell crowding the tunnels. Katara gagged uncomfortably, thoroughly fed up with stenches of every variety, including her own filthy aroma. “What is that awful-” she choked again before she could finish her question.

“What a priss.” Toph sneered in Katara’s general direction. “Grow up.”

“Whatever!”

Katara frowned even though Toph couldn’t see. To be a teenager, they sure had a ripe attitude, signs of a broken childhood. If Toph didn’t remind Katara so much of herself, she would have eliminated them back in the forest. But she saw something disturbingly kindred inside them. Perhaps it was the tormented spirit that lived in them both, or the unwillingness to die when everyday was an excuse to forfeit their lives. Not that the details of their connection mattered. Toph saved Katara from an untimely end, so she chose to place her focus on that. Her frown faded and she relaxed into the sway of Boulder’s giant strides. She was still without a plan, money, or purpose, but that all seemed unimportant as she ascended, the idle thoughts of home falling behind her like breadcrumbs. 

In New Ozai, Katara had a chance to reimagine her suffering, use it as fuel to forge a new type of freedom for herself. She thought about the feeling of bloodbending, the turmoil that ate at her as she brought humans and animals to their knees, dangling their lives at death’s edge. That power was more than rare, it was singular, belonging to just her. How she decided to wield it could change the course of history. But first, she had to make it past the gates. 

  
  
  



	3. unwelcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The ride into town from the wealthier district was long and dreary. The ornate houses morphed into shacks. Finely hedged shrubs were replaced by unruly weeds growing wherever their roots took hold. Tailored garments were unheard of amongst the barely domiciled, most of whom wore thin rags and cloaks. The contrasting worlds reminded Katara of home..."_
> 
> New Ozai is not a very welcoming city, and that goes for peasants and royals, alike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ **Chapter Three Companion playlist:** ](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1bMZJ0uB78TBxCslQw7Qaz)  
> Bruises (Acoustic) x Lewis Capaldi  
> Buzzcut Season x Lorde  
> Sober x Bazzi  
> Young & Rude x ABIR  
> Madness x Ruelle  
>   
> 

“Two silvers, or get out!” The brusk demand came from a man guarding the door of a bathhouse. 

He was almost seven feet tall with shoulders broader than his waist, which made him look unbalanced. His mangy beard covered most of his puffed out chest. He left his arms folded as the would-be customer pointed and swayed, going on about losing his coins in a game of street Pai Sho. Standing in the doorman’s shadow, he looked short and frail, his tattered clothes barely hanging on to his bony frame.

“If you just let me in this time I’ll owe you one,” he bargained. 

The doorman had heard enough from the drunk. He grabbed the man by his shirt and lifted him off his feet. It took no effort at all to drag him out the doorway and toss him into the street where he landed in a puddle of sludge. The grime of the city threatened to drown his skeleton of a body. 

“I don’t want to see you back here without any money, or this will be the last place you ever visit,” the doorman threatened. 

Katara saw the desperate man struggling to stand, slipping in the sewage and waste. She was careful to walk around him lest she dirty her new pants. Well, they weren’t actually new, just new to her possession. She’d lifted them off the clothesline in the neighboring yard at the Beifong residence. Toph was letting her sleep in the guest house on their estate, so she helped herself to few things the neighbors wouldn't miss. Travel restrictions kept any family or friends from visiting, so the place was more of a glorified storage shed than a suite for visitors. A hollow five years left a thick layer of dust throughout, and when the sun spilled into the rooms specks of lint and dirt danced in the rays of light, floating aimlessly in the drafty air. Katara sneezed a lot in her temporary home, but she never complained. She was a beggar, not a chooser. 

Thievery had become second nature in Katara’s short time in New Ozai. The city had even worse jobs for refugees than Kōri City. Most of the displaced made their way on the streets hustling or selling themselves. Benders could make hand-over-fist money working security or running scams if they managed not to get caught. But those trades came with a lot of risk. Fire Sages stalked the streets looking for benders to arrest and force into the military. Once there they couldn’t take a wife or have children. It was a twisted practice, mandated by Ozai's law, and meant to purge the world of every earth and waterbending lineage. 

While Katara was in New Ozai, she had to be especially cautious because of her bending and haunted reputation from the south. She was ever wary of the citizens and officials who stood to gain from her being found. Vigilance was always important, even as she crept down the alley beside the bathhouse smoothing out her tunic, and combing back her loose hairs with her fingers. Around back, at a door on the opposite side of the building as the burly guard, Katara rapped on the wooden doorframe. She could hear the scurry of movement just beyond the threshold before a petite man answered her knock. He gripped the door so hard his knuckles turned white, and his eyes darted around, skittish and agitated. “You can’t keep coming ‘round back!”

Katara pushed the door fully open and sauntered past him. “Oh relax, Chin. I’ll only be here for a bit.” She was lying, and he knew it, but the conversation continued. Katara let her body fall into a pile of old down mattresses that sat in the corner to be thrown out. Her weight pulped the stack of bedding, sending a burst of feathers into the air. Despite smelling too strongly of rosemary oils and animal fat, the makeshift seat was quite comfy.

Chin paced around the small room, biting his previously manicured nails, contemplating what might happen to him if his boss found his unwelcome friend in the bathhouse for free, again. He was bare from the waist up, shaved chest, lathered in oil. His curly black hair blanketed him like a cape, reaching down to the dimples on the small of his back. A thin silk wrap loosely covered his lower half, he was a demure man, out of place in the house of sin. Katara occasionally noticed the subtle outline of his length swaying gently between his legs with each step, reminding her of the day they met. Their encounter had been soft, and soothing, and transactional. It was a moment in time paid for with borrowed silver and pillow talk. 

Somehow Chin managed to be meek and cunning all at once. He made the customers feel in control long enough for their purses to open as wide as their legs; they offered their bodies and their earnings. And when someone didn’t have enough silver to tip, or too much sorrow to soothe with a tongue, Chin took care of them, gilding them with his touch before they returned to the inferno. But it wasn’t Chin that Katara came to the slums to meet. There was someone else she wanted to see. _Needed_ to see. Yue. 

Some customers called her Tui because her hair shone white like the bright side of a full moon. Her ice blue eyes were spellbinding even in the pitch black of her room. She was made of supple lips, a slender neckline, and cool brown skin. She barely seemed real, yet Katara was addicted to her touch, and smell, and sound. Every coin she managed to steal from the city was spent on wine and Yue, and always in that order. 

“It’s been over five minutes, sweet. You gotta go,” Chin urged. He grabbed Katara’s arm and attempted to pull her up and out the door. Before he could even get her to budge, Jeong the Scavenger—a lion vulture spirit—materialized in the doorway. He was an absurd nine feet tall with ruffled feathers, and sinister blood red eyes. An unsettling squawk lurched from his throat as his neck jerked compulsively. “Another visit from the Beifong _pet_?”

Jeong was a ghastly sight to behold, and even worse to hear. The bald skin of his head was dry, almost scaly, and looked as if it might peel apart. His feathers were matted, caked with grease, unseemly, and unkempt. His form was not corporeal but his presence was still frightening to most, Katara being an exception. She thought the worst thing about Jeong was his voice—a repulsive grinding noise that made her jaw clench. _This bird again?_

“How nice of my favorite spirit to come see me,” she mocked.

The vulture’s head bobbed menacingly as he surveyed Chin and Katara, measuring their gall against his fiery glare. “I thought you were smart, but it seems from your showing up here that you’re one of those moronic beauties...You’d fit right in with my girls.”

Actually, the worst thing about Jeong was his bloodless entity, there was very little Katara could do to shut him up. She had to suffer through his sniveling remarks about her coming to work in the bathhouse, drinking away her guilty conscience, and living off the generosity of a teenager. 

It was her association with the Beifongs that kept Jeong from snatching her into the Spirit World and wrenching her soul from her body. Displeasing the notable family was a costly transgression, so he showed mercy with his actions, and picked away at Katara with his words. He was less inclined, however, to spare her enablers—Chin and Yue—who were two insignificant bodies in a nation of people buried alive by history. Six years ago, when Jeong found them, they were living in squalor, starving to death on the streets. Now they were only as valuable as the clients they seduced, which was barely enough to justify the vulture’s endless annoyance with Katara. 

“I’ll come work here the day you die, Jeong.” 

“Do hold your breath, little seal. You’d make a lovely corpse for my collection.”

“Fuck you J— ”

“Katara!” A woman’s voice cut through the room, bringing the standoff to an abrupt halt. All eyes turned to the door to find Yue standing there, waiting, hoping. “Sorry I’m late. Earth guys can be so dense when you tell them to leave.” Her voice was like silk, a sedative for the ears.

Like a retreating tide chasing the moon, Katara made her way to Yue’s side, smiling softly at the sight of her. Jeong could have protested, and thrown them all back onto the street, but his avian ear made him privy to more pressing matters somewhere in the house. “Waste your time if you like, but I expect 30 silvers by night’s end, regardless of what pretty vagrants you choose to fuck for fun.” He vanished before his sentence ended, leaving a chilling draft behind him.

“I hate that bird,” Katara mumbled. 

Chin almost fainted from relief, pressing the back of his hand into his forehead dramatically. “You? We live here, sweet! How about you two bump boxes at your house for once? Let us work in peace!”

Yue gave him a nonchalant wave. “Hush. Katara can come here whenever she wants," she replied to Chin, her eyes remaining on Katara, particularly her pursed lips and delicate jawline. Yue took her hand and led her upstairs. 

As far as rooms in illegal brothels go, Yue’s was clean and spacious. She kept layers of curtains draped over the windows to block out the light, the things she did in that room were best suited for darkness. A single candle painted the walls with flickering golden orange hues. They sat in the dim light and shared a cheap bottle before sharing their bodies. Wine then Yue, always in that order.

* * *

The front door of the guest house flew open and crashed into the wall with a thud. Clouds of dust billowed into the air as Toph marched in. “Rise and shine, loser!”

 _No no no no no._ Katara pulled her ratty blanket over her head to hide from the light. There’s never enough time for sleep in New Ozai. The bags forming under her eyes were deep and dark, made worse by her unhealthy diet of alcohol and sex. When was the last time she ate or drank water? 

After being in town for a month, the days were blurring together, a dangerous montage of visits to the bathhouse, stealing from the wine merchants, and sneaking around the Beifong estate. Katara hadn’t bothered to make any plans for her future. She was content indulging in the present. 

Toph rammed their foot into Katara’s ribs, making her cry out in pain. “Moon Spirits, that hurt!” 

Toph laughed at her and propped their hands on their hips. As much as they enjoyed being rebellious and going against the system, Toph knew Katara wouldn’t be able to squat in the abandoned guest house forever. It was time she found a way to make money and get a place of her own. Toph looked over Katara’s half-conscious form and shook their head. “You’re such a bum. How do you even afford to fuck the girls at the bathhouse?”

Katara started to chuckle but coughed instead, her lungs still reeling from the heavy kick. “It may come as a surprise to you, but I’m actually pretty attractive. _They_ want to fuck _me_.” Of course that would be a surprise to Toph, they were blind. 

The earthbender slammed one foot onto the granite floor and launched Katara onto her feet. “Just get dressed, I have a show soon.”

To keep Toph out of Ozai’s military, the Beifongs offered their child’s talents as entertainment for the Fire Nation aristocrats. Under the rule of a less forgiving governor, that might not have been much of a bargain, passing on a powerful military asset for a court jester. Thankfully, Lord Zuko was woefully disinterested in following his father and sister’s orders. The city state was a lawless land under his control, or lack thereof. It was common knowledge that benders hid in the shadows by the hundreds of thousands, using their powers just enough to get by without stirring up trouble, and he never cared enough to do a thing about it. It didn’t matter to Zuko if Toph lived or died so long as he could continue hiding in his mountaintop refuge, far away from his wretched family.

* * *

The ride into town from the wealthier district was long and dreary. The ornate houses morphed into shacks. Finely hedged shrubs were replaced by unruly weeds growing wherever their roots took hold. Tailored garments were unheard of amongst the barely domiciled, most of whom wore thin rags and cloaks. The contrasting worlds reminded Katara of home, the way her village disappeared in the shadow of Kōri City, and how her people were left to wither away. The magnitude of Ozai’s destruction was palpable everywhere Katara went, it haunted her faithfully. To keep from going insane, she stopped looking so closely and let the scenery fade away. She got good at suppressing her emotions despite the swelter of her growing rage.

When they reached the center of the entertainment district, Toph paid a seedy looking man to keep Boulder out of trouble. Before heading into the arena where they were scheduled to perform, Toph turned and reminded Katara, “you need to find a job. Try not to spend all your time in the bathhouse today.” 

Begrudgingly, Katara acknowledged Toph’s instructions and made her way to the only part of town she was familiar with—the slums. She pretended to be looking out for hustlers and dealers, telling herself she’d proposition someone for a job, but really she was ambling towards the bathhouse like a creature of habit.

Chin answered her knocking but made sure to keep his foot against the door when he cracked it. “She’s got a guy, sweet,” he spoke in a hush through the narrowed entrance. 

“I don’t care,” Katara whispered tartly. 

Chin was trying to look out for Yue’s best interest, knowing that she needed to make her rent, but it quickly became clear that his efforts were futile. 

“Either you let me in, or I move you,” Katara threatened, and he knew exactly what she meant. 

Not long after they first met, Katara had lost her temper and bloodbent Chin against a wall. She was instantly regretful, and they never talked about it after, but Chin couldn’t forget a deadly secret amongst friends. Being whipped across a room like a toy was the scariest thing that had ever happened to him, closely followed by a run in with Jeong that left him deaf in one ear. He decided to let Katara inside instead of risking another near death experience. 

Katara went straight up the stairs to Yue’s room and was disappointed, but not surprised, to find her standing with a strange man. The hall was dark like the rest of the house, but Katara could still make out the green band on his arm— _an Earth Kingdom guy_. His Fire Nation clothes were red but looked just like traditional Earth attire—a sleeveless tunic with a thick belt, loose black pants, and clean shoes. Whoever he was, he had money to spend and a plan for spending it, which was twice as much as Katara had. 

She studied the way the man stood up straight to give Yue space, and kept his eyes on her face, never glancing down at her bare breast. His hands were resting behind his back and he mindlessly toyed with a small stone between his fingertips. A pervasive confidence shrouded his form. He didn’t haggle, he didn’t overstep, he just stood politely while Yue ran her hand down his chest. If Katara was more naive she might have thought Yue was genuinely interested in the earthbender, but the only true attraction in the bathhouse was to silver, nothing else even came close.

Just as Yue turned to lead the man into her room, she spotted Katara at the end of the hall. Against her better mind, she excused herself and made her way to Katara with a plan to send her home. But Yue had very little will to resist her favorite visitor, who was always penniless and stubborn, because she was a pleasant reprieve from the regular customers. There was also something hypnotic about Katara’s mysterious background—a Water Tribe woman with a deadly secret—so, it was hard to quell the curiosity. 

“I can’t really talk now,” Yue said quietly. 

“I see. Who’s the guy?”

“A regular, goes by Haru. He’s nice, though, you don’t have to worry.” A few times in the past Jeong had disappeared and the customers had gotten greedy. On one such occasion, a wealthy business owner from the financial district saw fit to take his anger out on Yue. When Katara found out she bent him in a knot, breaking his bones and mangling his organs. The doorman found him in the alley with Katara sitting nearby, waiting for Chin to let her in. Yue didn’t know how it happened and she was too afraid to ask. Sometimes the burden of knowing was far worse than the craving to know. It was best if she accepted the torment of wondering. 

Katara thought about leaving, it seemed like the polite thing to do, but a feeling in her gut kept her planted at the top of the stairs, weight shifting on the creaky wooden floorboards. Haru was well-dressed but not well enough to be rich. He was a bender but hadn’t been sent to the military. That meant he was a hustler of sorts, and doing well enough to afford his clothes and a good time at the bathhouse. Katara began to plot on how she could make the most of her trip to the slums.

She leaned forward and whispered in Yue’s ear. 

“You sure,” the white haired woman asked, her addled brain struggling to comprehend the offer. After a brief back-and-forth between them, Haru got impatient and walked over to join their chat. 

“Everything okay?” His words were warm and comforting, a rare characteristic to have. Not many men managed to preserve their civility after the war, Haru was an anomaly, and it piqued both women’s interest.

“Haru, this is my friend, Katara. I— she was wondering if you would mind some company. Free of charge of course.”

He let out a soft, half-hearted sigh. “I don’t mind at all.”

Yue’s room felt smaller with three people instead of two. _Were the walls always this close? Has the bed always been this low?_ Katara looked around as if she’d never been there before. The implications of her decision were unfolding in front of her as Haru got undressed. She wished she had drank before she came. Wine then Yue, because wine made the misdeeds easier to commit. It helped hide the uncertainty inside. A clear mind was too easily impressed upon, the memories were too vivid, the forgetting was impossible. This night was going to live with her for a while, and that made Katara nervous.

Warm, slender fingers lifted Katara’s shirt off, exposing her skin to the humid air. Beads of sweat formed quickly from the heat, and from the nerves, making everything feel oily. The sheets clung to Haru’s broad back as he laid down, Yue climbing on top, rubbing her way across the expanse of brown skin before her. Katara watched intently, noting how his eyes closed when Yue lowered her hips down onto his, bringing them firmly against each other, a velvety moisture ghosting along his length. Intrigue flickered in her eyes when he muttered a few curses about the nails scratching down his chest, red welts forming in their wake. She felt her heart beating between her legs, remembering that very touch Yue shared with her...and everyone...and anyone. 

Haru reached his hand out as a subtle invitation, exposing the thoughts he tried to hide, revealing his true excitement about having them both. Katara gave up her control and submitted to the moment. Her mouth found his, then Yue’s, then two rough fingers that she sucked with devilish intent, staring into Haru’s eyes. No one led, but everyone followed. Filthy cravings directed their hands. An impure hunger kept them from holding back. 

Rugged strong hands pulled Katara up to the head of the bed where she made a seat of Haru’s mouth, rolling against his tongue, gasping whenever his nose prodded her clit. And as she occupied his face, Yue took him between her lips, her hands clasped around the base of his cock, saliva coating his shaft with messy warmth. It took all his strength not to fuck her mouth, to let her experienced tongue circle the tip before it flattened along his length, licking up and down until his pulsing erection was inconceivably hard. 

After Katara felt satisfyingly wet, she joined Yue, following her lead, mimicking the motions of her lips wrapping around Haru. They took turns filling their mouths, only looking at each other, stealing jealous kisses when they could. Then the earthbender’s patience wore thin. Lured in by a narrow waist and palmable ass, he left the bed and pulled Yue up in front of him. He wrapped his arms around her, face buried in silky white locks, breathing in her scent. His hands massaged her breast and she arched her back just so, rubbing her ass against his girth. Katara had never seen Yue this way, playful and compliant, yet subtly in charge. The way she broke through Haru’s steady composure, edging him into a state of vulnerability, was incredibly seductive. 

Katara sat at the edge of the bed to watch again, shamefully aware of the sheets getting wet beneath her. She reached a hand out to Yue’s folds, light and teasing. She couldn’t see her eyes, but she could hear the staccato breaths, feel the buckling knees. 

“Wait,” Yue begged. She gathered all her focus to keep from falling apart. Her job was to give, not receive, so she forced Katara onto her back, and leaned over her like a lioness waiting for prey. She thoroughly lathered her fingers in Katara’s sex, and gently pressed at her quivering entrance, before entering her slowly. They had done this before, but it felt mesmerizingly new.

It felt like a hundred lit candles inside Katara’s body, the heat pooling between her legs, running down her thighs. Haru took one of her knees and pinned it against her chest, spreading her open for Yue to settle deeper inside. Katara dug her fingers into Yue’s back, clawing at her body as if they could be closer, her pussy clenching around two versed fingers. She was unconcerned with where those hands had been the night before, or the hour before. It only mattered that she had them now, diving into her, making her scream. 

Yue never looked away, holding Katara’s weary gaze as she fucked her slowly, the heel of her palm against her aching clit. Yue rocked in rhythm with Haru’s cock sliding inside of her, perfectly wet from her own need and the dribbles of cum that had escaped. His abs rippled as he found a steady pace, his mind foggy from the view of Yue working Katara open, making her writhe in ecstasy. His eyes glanced down as his cock disappeared into Yue’s throbbing entrance, and he almost lost control when she tightened around it. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, desperately trying to make it last. 

He pumped twice more, urged on by the sound of Katara coming, and the gush of his stroking dick. Yue knew he was right on the edge, so she looked over her shoulder with pleading eyes. 

“Please,” she moaned, wanting nothing more than to see him climax. And he did just that, panting uncontrollably, spasming while he was deep inside, cum seeping out while Yue’s walls continued to hold him still.

Somehow, they all made there way onto the tiny bed, arms and legs thrown about, nothing more important than the sex drunk sleep that took them down. Commotion in the house kept them from slumbering too deeply, and eventually Haru peeled himself away from his cursory lovers. Katara was woken up by the jingle of coins in his purse, which reminded her why she fucked him in the first place.

She sat up and called out to him quietly. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry, the money’s on the table.”

Katara glanced over and saw he was telling the truth. In fact, he had paid double, and tipped. But money wasn’t her motivation for interrupting his appointment. “I’m not one of Jeong’s girls. I was just looking for some fun.”

Haru knit his brow quizzically. He assumed she was lying but couldn’t see any cracks in her expression. “So what are you looking for now?”

“A hustle,” she said planely. After such an unorthodox introduction to each other, there was no need to mince words. Haru mulled over his options—finish getting dressed, leave the bathhouse with his memories and nothing else, or succumb to his inclination and see what he could figure out about his peculiar bedmate.

“Get dressed.”

* * *

Tundra tanks have a way of shaking the ground that’s distinct from natural anomalies. It’s unlike the rumble of stampedes, softer than earthquakes, and more tame than an avalanche. The arrival of Fire Lord Azula and her companions shook New Ozai awake. Commoners and aristocrats alike, sat up in their beds and looked out their windows for answers. There was no parade. No festive welcome. No pomp and circumstance.

Zuko and a six man guard stood at the gates while the tanks crawled forward, one for each woman, and a fourth for security. If Azula could see the sleeping city as they approached, she might have turned them all around from rage. The lack of grandeur was an insult to her presence. 

The vehicles came to a hissing halt a few yards from Zuko. His hair was waist length and loose, except for the section bundled into his royal headpiece. He hadn’t bothered to shave, and his whiskery beard was long enough to scratch against his chest. A heavy lingering yawn was all he offered as a few uniformed men emerged from the first tank. 

“From the Capital City of our great Fire Empire, please welcome our honorable Fire Lord Azula, daughter of Phoenix King Ozai and the late Queen Ursa.” A guard moved to the side and offered his hand as Azula stepped out of the hatch. Her neutral expression was soured by her realization that no one was at the gate but her unassuming brother. There were no banners, or bands, or cheering peasants. Quickly, she became consumed with disgust. 

“What is this?” she hollers at Zuko, her breath at a hundred degrees. She had expected the city to be a far cry from the marvel of the capitol, but what lay before her was unacceptably pathetic.

“Welcome to New Ozai, Azula.” Zuko didn’t raise his voice or even change his expression. Azula’s anger was all too familiar to him, it no longer rattled him. 

She stormed towards him with her finger pointed at his chest. “How dare you pay such little respect to your Fire Lord. If father found out he would have you tossed from this very cliff.” She erased the space between them until her finger jabbed into him with enough force to send him stumbling back.

That was enough to set Zuko off. He gathered himself into a defensive pose, fists clenched, brows pulled into a fiery glare. “I won’t be disrespected in _my_ city, Azula. Not by you, or father, or anyone!” Smoke began to plume from his hands, and when Azula noticed she shot him an impish smirk.

“Hmmm. Let’s not fight in front of everyone, Zuzu…” she glanced around with annoyance. “No matter how few people are here.” 

Zuko relaxed his body, sucked in a shaky breath, and did everything he could to accept his reality—Azula was there to stay. His men signaled for the gates to open and the view of the city became an ugly backdrop for the equally ugly reunion. The streets were unpaved and riddled with divots, the citizens barely thought to bow their heads, and the smell was offensive.

“Oh heavens, Zuko, you call this a city? We ought to rename it New Iroh, it smells almost as bad.” Azula pushed past her older brother and strutted her way to a waiting palanquin. 

Mai and Ty Lee finally appeared from their tanks and sauntered over. As always, Ty Lee threw herself around Zuko and chirped a delightful greeting as if nothing was amiss. Mai hovered behind her, not sure of what she was going to say. She made note of Zuko’s wrinkled robes and crooked headpiece. His scar looked different on his aged face, less like a burn and more like a birthmark. His hair was unruly as it fell over his shoulders and down his body. She imagined what it might smell like during a hug, or feel like if she braided it.

“Hello, Mai,” Zuko grumbled. Ty Lee was standing to his left and just behind him, gesturing for her friend to respond like they practiced on the ship. Mai ignored Ty Lee, however, and responded with a quiet bow of her head. Zuko turned on his heels and walked to his own palanquin, saying over his shoulder, “nice of you all to accompany my sister.”

* * *

Azula dragged her finger across the dresser sitting against the far wall of her room. Zuko’s palace, which previously belonged to King Bumi, then Mai’s father Ukano, was mostly dormant before she arrived. Zuko rarely hosted events and never invited visitors. The majority of the rooms hadn’t seen life since the end of the war. There was an unsettling amount of dirt and animal droppings covering all the exposed surfaces. The sight of it made Azula’s stomach churn until she could taste the bile rising in her throat. 

“Filth,” she hissed as her fingertips rubbed together with dark grittiness, upsetting her further. 

“Guards,” she called out through her open door. Two men answered swiftly and stood attention. “I’m going to find the dinning hall in this godforsaken place. Have someone clean my chambers before I return.” They nodded obediently then left. 

Azula’s first stop was finding her friends in the maze of halls. The floors in the palace were a cold emerald granite. The walls were partially covered with Fire Empire banners, but Earth Kingdom insignias were still visible from a few awkward angles. The architecture and decor of the building was distinctly earthy, nothing like the other noble homes that had been revamped since the war. The essence of the Earth Kingdom was still palpable in Zuko’s palace, and it made Azula cringe. She was burdened by the thought of those who were snuffed out by her father’s rule. She preferred the bliss of having it all erased from her surroundings, anything less was pestilent. 

Two right turns and a long stretch of hallway brought her to Ty Lee’s room. It was equally unfit for guests but she seemed unfazed by the filth. Already, her clothes were strewn about littering the floor and bed. Ty Lee had abandoned her pink wardrobe years ago, resorting instead to bright reds, but Azula hated all of the style decisions equally. She just accepted that Ty Lee would always be somewhat of an eccentric.

“Should I even bother to ask what all of this is about?”

Ty Lee was surprised to hear someone at her doorway while she was so preoccupied. “Oh! Sorry, Azula, I was just sorting out my things. Since we’ll be here for so long, I wanted to get things put away.” 

Azula shook her head at the scene while she stepped around the scattered garments. She cleared a seat on the bed and reclined while the other woman bounced around the room, folding and hanging. Ty Lee’s energy was unusually high, even for her, so Azula thought to ask, “what do you think of my brother’s new look.”

The question gave Ty Lee pause. Usually, she was the one asking Azula for _her_ opinion, not the other way around. She also became subtly paranoid that the Fire Lord might suspect her feelings for Zuko, which she had kept a secret from everyone, even Mai. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been cooped up in this sorry excuse for a palace, apparently skipping baths, and cutting himself off from the world. _I_ think he looks a mess, but what about _you_?” She narrowed her eyes at Ty Lee’s skittish grimace. Something was going on in her head and Azula wanted to know what it was.

“Well, he looks rather princely, if you ask me.”

 _What the hell does that mean_ , Azula wondered. The vague response only made her more curious, and Ty Lee never did well with inquisition. “So you think he looks handsome?”

“What? No!”

“You think he’s ugly? Ty Lee, that’s rude of you to say about the Phoenix King’s son.”

“No no, I didn’t mean it like that,” she stuttered. Suddenly, words were very difficult for Ty Lee to form, she was buckling under the pressure of Azula’s questioning. 

“Does Mai know that you fancy my brother the way she does,” Azula asked with a bass devoid of empathy. She was entertained by her friend’s anxious demeanor and fidgety stance. 

“I— I could never tell her, Azula. She’d never forgive me.” Ty Lee was practically begging, though she wasn’t sure what she was begging for—secrecy? Forgiveness? Understanding? None of that was in Azula’s repertoire of skills. Fire was all she ever had to offer.

“I sure hope she doesn’t have to find out from someone else. That would make matters so much worse,” Azula claimed. She left her seat and floated toward the door, feigning a disappointed pout. “And I would hate for you two to have a falling out while we’re here. It would ruin the trip.”

Ty Lee dropped her head in shame. “You’re right, Azula. I’ll tell her myself, that’s what a good friend would do.”

Azula’s pout disappeared, quickly replaced by a satisfied grin. “Great! Meet us in the dining hall in thirty minutes, I'm starving.” Then she disappeared, off to find Mai and assess how she was settling in. If Azula was going to be trapped in that shabby place, the least she deserved was a bit of entertainment—a messy love triangle would do the trick.

* * *

Zuko knows his sister has been terrorizing his home for the better part of the day, but he can’t bring himself to leave his room and face her. There’s no use in trying to reign Azula in. Everything she does is abrasive, and over the years Zuko’s will to oppose her has worn thin. He used to exude the confidence of a crown prince whenever she challenged his strength. Now, he was nothing more than a threadbare smock draped over a thin body, decrepit and tired. If Azula wanted to use New Ozai for whatever absurd hobby she had taken up, Zuko wasn’t going to stand in her way.

His royal robes were laid over the back of an armchair. His shoes were paired at the foot of his bed. The candles were melted down to nearly nothing. His room was quiet, and safe, and he wanted nothing more than to remain inside of it for the next six months, or however long Azula was staying. Zuko eyed the ceiling as he laid on his back. There was nothing up there but rock, yet he always found the answers he needed by staring.

The events of the morning replayed endlessly in his mind. Had he made a mistake by not announcing Azula’s arrival? Should he have braided his hair, or at least washed it? Did Mai and Ty Lee notice the arguing? What did his guards think of his sister walking all over him? The questions spiraled around him like a murder of crows circling a carcus. His mind was a frenzy of uncertainty, painfully disorganized, afflicted by his sister’s presence. A knock at the door offered a jarring reprieve.

“Lord Zuko, Fire Lord Azula has requested your presence for dinner.” _I’m being summoned in my own palace...great_. Zuko peeled himself from the mattress and threw on more casual attire than he’d worn earlier. Any other prince would have servants to clothe him, but he never took up the practice when he moved to New Ozai. Having so many people around was more trouble than it was worth. He managed to get in and out of his clothes just fine on his own, even if no one found him to be particularly well dressed. Before heading to dinner he looked himself over in the large mirror by the door, a fleeting thought came over him— _I give it sixty seconds before Azula tells me I look like a peasant._

Zuko didn’t have the energy to change, instead he began the long walk to the dining hall.

* * *

The servants in the palace were not accustomed to serving a militant lord, which made adjusting to Azula a lofty task. Her pointed glare inspired every worker to contemplate what their last words might be because they always expected to be struck by lighting for the most trivial infractions. Truthfully, they were naive to think the Fire Lord would waste her energy on killing such insignificant peons. As Azula paced the courtyard in front of a lineup of mongoose lizards, her penal thoughts were limited to exile and indefinite dungeon stays. Not murder.

“You would think I could at least find a half-decent mount in this wretched place.” She released an exhausted sigh and leered at the nearest handler. It was a young man, no older than twenty, doing his best to hold on to the leather reins that barely harnessed the mongoose lizard beside him. His body jerked violently as the beast bucked back and forth. “ _You_. Let’s see what that one can do.”

The man’s head slowly turned to the lizard and he looked as if he was silently requesting its cooperation. A pungent stench seeped from its mouth every time its tongue darted out. The smell made the man nauseous, and if he’d eaten that morning he might have emptied his stomach. Unfortunately—and luckily—he couldn’t afford to eat everyday, including that particular morning.

His knuckles got white as he constricted his hands. No matter what, he knew he couldn’t let go. 

The giant lizard crawled forward, the earth shifted beneath its feet, and its eyes turned bright red. The handler whistled a command and the ground rumbled apart until there was a pit of gravel beneath them. Rising onto its back feet, the lizard began whipping its tail with thunderous cracks. Three times the man had to leap out the way of the destructive swings to keep his head. He was dragged about the courtyard by the leash as he gave more commands. It was a silly show of incompetence.

“ _Enough_ ,” Azula commanded, a flash of lightning escaping her fingertips. Surprise took over every servant's face as the entire line of lizards heeled. Their wild hissing and growls stopped, and they lowered their heads obediently.

Azula made her way to the handler’s side. She faced the waiting beast and assessed its stature, grabbing the leash once she was sure. “This is the one. Send the others back.”

The man recognized the dismissal in the Fire Lord’s tone but couldn’t obey as fright cemented him to the ground. Azula’s pitiless glare set his legs in motion before she could finish threatening, “you have three seconds to leave my sight.”

Once the courtyard was cleared out, Azula mounted the mongoose lizard and had it trot in circles. She was pleased with its compliance as she gave directives. Control of any variety pleased Azula. She collected power like fine fabrics, and it grew like a wardrobe overrun with silks and linens. Power was a quiet wish behind her quest for a dragon. She wanted to be the first dragon rider in a century, _and_ the last person to ever ride, an undertaking that would give her the greatest power of all—changing the landscape of history for generations to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some ungodly reason I feel compelled to remind folks that ATLA characters have canonical storylines as adults and this is an au taking place 6 years after the 100 year war ended. They're all traumatized adults doing adult things 😀


End file.
